


Mornings.

by LeighLemont



Series: Wincesty One Shots [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Dean Winchester, Brother/Brother Incest, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Incest, M/M, Morning After, Morning Sex, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Stanford Era (Supernatural), Top Sam Winchester, blowjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-11-05 03:02:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17910761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeighLemont/pseuds/LeighLemont
Summary: Sam closed his eyes again and sank back into the pillow of the shitty hotel they’d collapsed into last night after too much whiskey, too many honest confessions, and too little self control to do anything about it. It wasn’t the first time he and Dean had slept together since Stanford, and probably not the last, but that didn’t make it any less complicated the morning after.





	Mornings.

**Author's Note:**

> Leave me a comment and let me know what you think!

Sam woke up and instinctively curled into the heat of the body lying beside him. He knew he’d have to get up soon and get ready for class, but it was so warm lying here, so comfortable. He reached out to touch the person lying beside him and his hand froze finding a familiar, but unexpected body beside him. 

Jess? No. That wasn’t Jess. 

He blinked his eyes open and looked across the pillow at the only person he’d spent more mornings waking up next to. 

Dean. Right. Yellow-eyes. Dad. Stanford. Fire. Jess. Dean. 

Sam closed his eyes again and sank back into the pillow of the shitty hotel they’d collapsed into last night after too much whiskey, too many honest confessions, and too little self control to do anything about it. It wasn’t the first time he and Dean had slept together since Stanford, and probably not the last, but that didn’t make it any less complicated the morning after. 

Morning had always been a complicated time of day for Sam:

Waking up as a toddler with Dean wrapped around him, Dean both protective and afraid; the two of them so tiny curled up on whatever bed or couch dad had secured for the night. Sam had learned if he made tiny hitching noises or whimpers as he woke, Dean would pet his hair and make gentle shushing sounds, even if Sam hadn’t woken Dean up. It had been his favourite way to spend mornings for a long time. 

Waking up in the back of the Impala wrapped up in a car blanket held loosely to Dean’s side while Dean slept against the hard breath-fogged window. Dad had driven all night listening to the radio even though both boys had been exhausted and a little cold in the backseat. It had been an early November morning sometime back before Sam had started school, when he was just forming his first childhood memories.

Waking up around the age of ten at Bobby’s in the spare bedroom with the light streaming through the open window. It had been warm in the early hours of the summer morning. Dean had been awake already and waiting to hear what game they were going to play in the junkyard today. 

Waking up in his mid-teens to hear Dean, early Saturday mornings, collapsing heavily into the hotel bed beside him, or onto the couch, or or onto the opposite bed, or slipping into the shower, uncoordinated and exhausted and back from a late night of whatever Dean got up to - drinking, girls, fights- when dad was gone and Dean felt restless. 

Waking up a month before he’d left for Stanford in a cramped hotel room filled up by a king sized bed instead of two doubles; the only vacant hotel room they’d been able to both find and afford with the cash dad had left them after two hours of searching. Dean pressed up tight against his side, blissfully stretched out across the mattress as though he had not a care in the whole world while Sam squeezed his eyes shut and thought about anything that might kill his aching boner before Dean woke up and noticed what a freak Sam was. He only had to hide it for one more month. 

Waking up in his dorm room, the sound of sloppy sex coming loud and clear through the wall beside him as his floormate fucked another girl, after another meaningless party, with as much drunken enthusiasm as any college boy getting laid at 2am could muster when Sam had to be awake to get ready for an exam in five hours. 

Waking up in Jessica’s bed to delicate hands tracing his jaw and neck before Jess pressed their lips together and rode him lazily in the early morning before their responsibilities could pull them out of the house and into the world, with a quiet “Good morning, Sam” whispered in his ear. 

It had been just under three months since Jessica had been murdered and for the most part, Sam usually knew when he was. Mostly that was thanks to Dean; who was watching him, sticking beside him despite finding out about his crazy dreams and visions, reminding him to eat and sleep, keeping him busy, slowly making him laugh and come back to life, and making sure he didn’t shatter too far to put back together. It had been a few weeks since he’d woken up so disoriented, but he was pretty sure it had to do with the date. 

It was January 24th. 

It was Dean’s birthday. It was Jessica’s birthday. 

He made an unwilling strangled noise in the back of his throat and pressed his face to Dean’s shoulder, closing his eyes and trying to block out the mild headache he had. They hadn’t been too drunk last night, only a couple of drinks each before Dean had given him that ‘look’ across the pool table they’d just finished clearing. Sam was calling it the ‘If you want me, I’m yours’ look in his head because that’s what it always felt like when Dean sent the invitation his way. 

It wasn’t that dirty breathtaking expression Dean got when he was undressing someone with his eyes. It wasn’t the same charm Dean used when flirting someone into giving up information. It wasn’t that clever raw want that he got when he was angling to take a girl home. It was a quiet, promising, but gentle look that he only ever sent Sam’s way. It was full of want, love, care, devotion and all of the other things Dean wouldn’t or couldn’t say to him out loud, but that Sam knew anyway. Dean had always been better at showing than telling and he sucked and kissed reassurances into Sam’s skin as often as Sam needed and wanted him to. 

“Sammy.” Dean’s groggy murmur caught his attention. Dean was looking at him, blinking tiredly with a small frown of confusion knit between his brows. “You alright?” 

Sam shrugged even though he wasn’t sure Dean would notice it. Dean turned onto his side, facing Sam, and tucked the bend of his elbow under Sam’s ear. Sam could feel Dean’s fingers already making gentle sweeps across his temple and through his hair. Dean’s way of calming Sam since he’d been too little to talk. 

“What you thinking about, Sam?” Dean asked, his sleep rough voice gentle and warm. Sam was relieved to find Dean still focused on him and not avoidant. Some mornings when they woke up next to each other, Dean was still affectionate and open like he was now. Sometimes he was guilty and distant. He never pushed Sam away, but the pain and conflict that would stir in Dean’s eyes made Sam keep his hands to himself on those occasions, even if he still needed. Each time it happened between them, the more relaxed Dean seemed to get on average about what they were doing, but his morning after response was never completely predictable. 

“Happy birthday.” Sam told to him quietly, closing his eyes quickly again and pressing his face back to Dean’s skin. He couldn’t stop the tears from coming, but he didn’t want Dean to lay there and watch him cry again. He knew that’s what Dean would do if that’s what Sam chose to let happen. 

“That all?” Dean asked. Sam shook his head, but didn’t speak right away. He pushed away and rolled onto his back, still resting his head on Dean’s elbow as Dean scratched his fingers through Sam’s hair. He didn’t follow any closer than that, giving Sam his space until he was ready. 

“I’m a mess.” Sam laughed humorlessly after a few seconds of breathing himself back under control. He’d told himself he wasn’t going to do this today. Last night with Dean’s mouth on him and his hands fisted in the shoulder of Dean’s t-shirt as he’d come down Dean’s throat, he’d sworn he was going to get through today somehow without letting it pull him apart. So far it wasn’t looking good on that promise. It wasn’t even six am. “It’s too early for this.” 

“It’s okay.” Dean replied, his breath ghosting over Sam’s neck as he spoke. Sam reached down and tangled his hand with Dean’s free hand. Dean let him tug it forward without resistance and wrapped his arm around Sam’s stomach.

“I miss her. Today I...” Sam whispered. “God, Dean. It hurts.”

“I know.” Dean replied, pressing his lips to Sam’s temple and making small circles with his thumb where it rested on Sam’s stomach. “I’m sorry, Sammy. I’m so sorry.” 

“I love you.” Sam said, letting the confusion and turmoil he felt inside spill out of him a little more freely than he normally would. He turned his head so that he was looking at Dean’s face, but kept the distance. 

“I know.” Dean smiled sadly, licking his lips uncertainty and glancing at Sam’s mouth. “You can do both at the same time.” 

“Okay.” Sam’s eyes slipped closed and he let Dean take control as Dean leaned forward and pressed his lips to Sam’s. Dean’s mouth was always careful, gentle, and currently the only refuge Sam felt like he had from the knots of guilt and regret in his stomach. He sighed into the kiss, curling his hand around Dean’s shoulder and pulling him closer. It wasn’t long until Dean pulled his arm free from behind Sam’s head and settled to kneel overtop of him, his tongue gentle and curious against Sam’s teeth, his body held tight and close, but not really giving Sam the responsibility of supporting any of his weight. 

“Want me to go down on you again?” Dean asked, a dark edge creeping into his voice even though he was still nosing innocently at Sam’s jaw and pressing quick kisses to his skin. 

“No.” Sam murmured quietly. “I don’t want that this time.” 

“Hm?” Dean asked. Sam almost never turned down getting head. He looked back up at Sam’s face. “What do you want then?” 

Sam bit his lip. He knew what he wanted to ask for, but they’d never done any of this with the lights on and even though it was still kind of dark in the room, the sun was starting to come up. He’d felt Dean inside him before. He’d been inside Dean. But always in the dark and always in the middle of the night after Dean had flashed him the signature ‘I’m yours’, giving him the go ahead that it was okay to touch and take. Except Dean was giving him that look now, in the dim light of approaching morning. 

“Inside. I want...” Sam struggled quietly. This was the only area in which Dean seemed to be able to talk more openly and without shame where Sam stumbled and stuttered through his requests. Dean understood him perfectly though, as he was already leaning over the side of the bed and pulling a bottle of lube and a condom from the front pocket of his bag.

“We can do that, Sam.” Dean said quietly, dropping the condom onto the mattress and slicking his own fingers. Dean didn’t waste any time and Sam lied there and watched him as Dean worked himself open, his breath going slightly uneven, ever so often a quiet moan slipping from his tongue before he could catch it. Sam was absently rubbing his hand over Dean’s thigh, his attention caught between the look of hunger and satisfaction on Dean’s face and the movement of Dean’s wrist where Dean’s hand had disappeared behind himself. 

Dean didn’t spend too long on prep. He never really did when he did it to himself. As long as there was enough lube, he didn’t mind the stretch or the burn, and he didn’t want to make Sam wait. Sam hurting had always been enough incentive for Dean to let himself suffer a little, but Dean couldn’t really call this suffering. He’d wanted it for too long to call it suffering and now it seemed to be what Sam wanted, sometimes needed, too. 

Dean had been hesitant at first. It was the only time in his life he’d hesitated before saying yes to sex, but Sam wasn’t just some random hookup. Sam was more important than that. Dean still wasn’t convinced that Sam wasn’t going to come to his senses about what they were doing -because it was wrong, Dean knew it was wrong- and take off again. If Sam did, Dean knew he’d end up just that more messed up this time around than when Sam had left for Stanford, but he couldn’t say no or even really consider ‘no’ when Sam needed him.

Impatient, he removed his fingers and rolled the condom down onto Sam, slicking him up with some extra lube and a twist of his wrist that had Sam drawing in a sharp breath and biting his lip. Dean threw his leg over Sam’s hip and leaned down to press his lips to Sam’s forehead once. 

“Okay?” Dean asked.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you?” Sam huffed a tiny laugh. Dean smiled and shrugged. 

“I’m always good, Sam.” Dean promised with a playful wink and a dirty lick of his lips. Dean leaned back and then Sam was grabbing at his hips as Dean sank back down onto him in one slow grind, Dean’s head tipping back and his chest rising and falling quickly as his body resisted what he was making it do. He wasn’t nearly stretched enough, but the mild pain made it feel right, a reminder that this was wrong, so fucking wrong, even if it felt incredible. 

They both moaned when Sam bottomed out, pushed deep into his oler brother. Dean took a few seconds to let himself adjust to the feeling of being stretched around Sam, so much thicker than his own hurried fingers had been. Dean ran a hand down his own chest and across the muscles of his stomach as they quivered tightly beneath his fingertips. 

“Move.” Dean murmured, one of his hands reaching down to touch Sam’s briefly before he leaned forward and used it to support himself. “Come on. Now.” 

Sam nodded and snapped his hips forward thrusting shallow at first, making sure Dean was ready. He curled his arms around Dean’s shoulders and pulled back so that just the tip of his dick was still inside before pushing back into Dean and gradually building a steady grinding pace between the two of them. 

It was a hard, slow, dirty, deep fuck and it didn’t take long until Sam could feel Dean’s muscles tensing around him as though he was getting close. Sam circled a hand around Dean’s cock where it was leaking precum onto Sam’s stomach. It was flushed red, almost purple, and impossibly hard in his grasp. Dean let out a low groan and fucked his hips forward at the new stimulation. Sam hissed as Dean grew impossibly tight around him, the head of his cock rubbing deep and hard inside of Dean as Dean’s pace started to stutter. 

Dean was sure he was two thrusts away from losing it when Sam nailed his prostate on a particularly hard thrust and he tipped over the edge without warning. His nails dug into the flesh of Sam’s forearm and a tight growl ripped through his teeth as he collapsed against Sam’s chest and buried his face in Sam’s neck, sucking at the skin there and riding out the electric aftershocks of his orgasm. 

Sam slammed into him desperate for his own release and still tightening and flexing his fist around Dean’s cock where it was trapped between them. It was almost too much, but Dean was still leaking come and shuddering when he felt Sam push forward one last time. Sam moaned low and satisfied , and gripped the back of Dean’s neck and pulling Dean’s mouth hungrily down against his own to invade it with his tongue. 

Dean pulled away for breath first, Sam’s hand sliding from his neck and down his back. Dean was panting and wrung out, and his muscles were ringing with that familiar exhausted and exhilarated buzz that followed the really satisfying, toe-curling orgasms he so often chased after. He forced himself up straight, making them both flinch as he gently pulled himself off of and collapsed beside Sam onto the bed. 

“Damn, Dean.” Sam sighed through quick breaths. 

“Back at’cha.” Dean slurred in response, stretching out and pulling the covers back up over his shoulder. As far as he was concerned, it was time to go back to sleep. They still had plenty of time before eight am. 

Sam rolled out of bed and cleaned himself up quickly, wiping Dean’s come from his skin and tossing the condom into the garbage can. He pulled on a thin pair of pajamas before sitting back down on the edge of the bed where Dean was watching him. 

“S’on your mind?” Dean asked, reaching out and running a hand down his back, but not leaving it there just in case Sam needed time to settle back into his own skin.

“Jess and I used to have sex in the morning like this.” Sam whispered without looking back at Dean. He didn’t want to be thinking about her so soon after sleeping with Dean, but he was. It felt like telling a secret. “Not every morning, just sometimes.”

“I’m sorry.” Dean said again, echoing his own words from earlier. He sounded like he was in pain. He generally was when Sam was hurting. “I know you miss her. I’m sorry I’m not her, Sam.” 

“I want this.” Sam said, shaking his head tiredly and reaching back blindly to catch one of Dean’s hands with his own as he continued to speak to the carpet. “I just feel like I’m lying to both of you...and she’s not even here.” 

“Sam. I know where you’re at. We’re good.” Dean said, squeezing Sam’s fingers in reassurance. “And Jess? All you ever did was love Jess, Sam. It’s not your fault.”

“It feels like it.” Sam admitted quietly. They’d been over this a dozen times and even after Dean had found out about the visions he’d insisted it wasn’t Sam’s fault. Sam knew logically Dean was right, he just couldn’t feel it yet. 

“It’s not. Come back to bed, Sam.” Dean prompted softly. Dean tugged at his hand and guide him back against the bed so that he was resting beside Dean again. Dean flipped the covers back up over both of them. “It’s still early. It’s barely even morning.” 

“Mornings.” Sam muttered heavily with a sad smile as he turned his face into Dean’s chest and closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of sex, and Dean, and home.


End file.
